The Fair Maid is an Adirondack tale explaining why bogs can be found in balsam forests. It is the story of a female who lives in a bog, and a male that lives in the balsam wood. Their respective geographical homes limit their love, until the Wizard of the North gives them hope, and after a long winter of separation and despair, he places the bog next to the balsam wood.
In this blog, I am working towards taking this epic work from journal form to published book.

Her obsession is somewhat puzzling. What would drive a womanwith considerable beauty and substantial resources to suffer thetoil and potentially serious injuries of a labor of lovea sinister looking black poolmotionlessdying and living birdsclots of dead grass

The swamplike vegetation on this page is really insane, and not very characteristic of the Adirondacks. I had attempted to make this an Adirondack Fairy Tale, in pride of this beautiful park that surrounds me...But sometimes you have to stretch the truth in order to fulfill the story line. I think these trees are from a southern swamp, not a northern forest.

She makes the most of every moment.Beruffled in translucent tonesthis lusty garland of russet leaves, and several blackenameled leaves. In the back set a bow of wateredribbon and lace.that mount up to perfection.

I am weary of this spread. The Fair Maid shouldn't be nekked till later on...BUT I love the weird waxy horn pipes. I may have to keep it in.

The dripping background was in an art magazine. I don't remember which one, Art Forum or something like that. This was a few years ago I did this page—— PRE-graffiti craze. I really like the dripping paint thing. I don't care if it is in vogue or what the deal is. There is a time and a place for dripping tho, and apparently when you are remote and lonely in your black moss bog, that is a good time.

In the beginningRound and round she whirled—in space—in the blackness—in confusion. Slower andslower she turned- a mass of warring sensationspounding down upon her.Heaven turned is to hell.waiting forthe great oneness.

Very Important words! I like the spiritual relapse on this page.Heaven is turned to hell it seems, for most people waiting for God. I won't go into my personal religious preferences here, but I am really happy these words are in my book.

The beauty and grace of ayoung deer frolicking inthe summer meadow...the delight of a babyraccoon being startledby a tiny green frog...the charm of two chipmunks sharing theirfood with a little bird...such scenes fromnature have a very special fascination for usWhat kind of birds would you expectto find in a bog?What kind of frogs would you expectto find in a swamp?Are the trees young or stunted?What is the appearance of the water?How does it feel to walk on the mulch?What plants can you find that belongto the swamp community?The bog community?"Where?" is he

The Fair Maid attempts to turn her interests elsewhere...on the bog and the world that surrounds. But in the end, her thoughts succomb to feelings of missing her dream partner.

Then she sighed. She had neverbefore minded being alone. Now she dreaded it. When she wasalone now she felt so dreadfully alone.

At this point in my personal life, I was realizing my marriage was going south. I kept feeling that being alone is one thing. Being alone with someone right next to you was quite another. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was expressing my loneliness in my creation of this book. The act of creation, upon retrospect, appears to be quite autobiographical sometimes. I can see parallels between what was happening in my life, and what is happening in the artwork all the time. In fact, towards the middle of this book, I was unable to complete the pages, in accordance with the plot. This project sat for 2 full years untouched, and unfinished.There is a huge section here, perhaps 25 spreads (50 pp.) that are melancholy moments for the Fair Maid. I am not certain if I need so many pages in this portion of the story and plot. It is something I am looking at if I need to cut anywhere. It may appear out of balance with the ending. I don't want to end to seem short in comparison.

Monday, September 10, 2007

This page has the most excellent Bog word. I was really into type at the time, and I think this was prompted by all the cutting of letters and words for this book. I wanted each page to have interesting words to read, an interesting display of words also for the eyes, and creative words both with rhyming and prose mixed together. AEZ did an issue with odd typography. This is helping me date when I started the book, since it has been a few years!

Trapped in.The dominion of a dreamthe maiden all forlorn, lay in the humblebognests among the trees;Ponderously, fitfully, unevenly,I know that somewhere there are trees,And brooks that go meandering,Somewhere in gardens there are beesWith hollyhocks philandering;I know from signs that mark the sky,And something tells me it's "thatdesire which comesfrom thinkingof him

Lost in a maze ofsome great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into itself forall eternity. We can never pierce its infinite mystery—we mayonly wander, awed and spellbound, on the outer fringe of it.The woods call to us with a hundred voices.A timeless far-flungspirit in a nestof dreams

When I was working on these pages, way back a few years ago....this spread quickly became one of my favorites. I don't know if it was just the green of the page or what. Now when I look at the book complete, there are so many favorites to pick from.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Bored "Nature has her rubbish heaps." I said.I was so heartsick—I ran away tocome to stand on a mountainwith a young moon kissing it,TIMEmaneuver among snow-capped peaks abovemusic of thewind in the firsyou will have what you wish!things hoped for. But bide a wee."acknowledgement of the inevitableswept awayblissful comfortwear it always. Dont' waitknow you've found the perfectman.

That was a wonderful day in the little house of dreams.

And so ends the dreamy moment that the fair maid is having..She is bored with her regular life, bored to tears. She curses the natural world, the bog, her duties "Nature has her rubbish heaps". She stands on a mountain and hears the whispers of the world....and she learns that she should have what she wishes for....It is all too true.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

bound about her head with a crimson ribbon. Shewore a dress of some dark material, very plainly made, butswathed about her waist, outlining its fine curves, was a vivedgirdle of red silk. Her hands, clasped over her knee, were brownand somewhat work-hardened; but the skin of ther throat andcheeks was as white as cream. A flying gleam of sunset brokethrough a low-lying western cloud and fell across her hair.Presently she scrambled down the steep path to the littlenest of moss on the rocks beside the creek. Sprayfrom the rushing stream would keep the moss green all summer.

Monday, April 16, 2007

a dear little home—and love—and happiness—and glad dreams—everything I wanted—and never had—andnever could have. Oh, never could have! That was what stung!Whirling round and round in the northern House of DreamsI am a slave to the spirit of the quest.nothing but a dreamer.

Friday, April 13, 2007

Subservient to his will, and for him madehim," she said. He was someone to beworshipped from afar. it would obviouslynever be possible for them to meet.

Again, I look back at these words and they feel lame and weak. When I composed this book I was in an unhappy marital situation And I suppose I dreamt of the ideal... or realized the reality??....But at this point in time, away from it now ...almost divorced from it...I feel as tho this position of subservience is really pathetic, and olde-tyme stereotypical!That's just exactly why this is a fairy tale...so I can get away with that kind of thing. Besides, that is the way it appears to be in life most of the time. Women are subservient to the male of the species....and I guess embracing it could be more fun than bucking the system. Hence, she fondles herself.That does sound so crass. But this is an explanation of symbols and pages and therefore, I am going to tell it like it is.

Would the fair maid ever meet "him"? This perfect kindred soul in her dreams??? It doth seem impossible.

Monday, April 9, 2007

"I think I would have found a "kindred" spirit,'"I thought you were so beautiful-I longed for weeks after to find out who you were.

This page is key to the whole dream sequence...I notice I haven't accented it much with the words. (frown!) The fair maid comes upon her literal dream man, under the mushroom house, and of course as is typical with dreams, she had no idea who he was. But she seemed to know right away he was a "kindred spirit." This terminology was taken from Anne of Green Gables. I had 3 volumes that were old and shabby kicking around the studio while I was working on various pages and they are now cut up and shred, but always beloved...and now, they lend meanings to my own work. When I was a young girl, I had read the book and was quite taken with the descriptions of scenery and some of the ideas. One of those ideas was the kindred spirit....I have found many of these in my life. And here, the fair maid thinks she found one in her dreams.

I thought about this later, and resented that I deeply felt as tho a man of my dreams was the objective in life! But as I assess my life I notice that I really do live this way, thinking a man is what makes me complete. Perhaps it is somehow...but I resent it anyways.

There is always something going on that is not understood. Isn't that just the nature of life? Especially in dreams we seek to find the hidden meaning, the essence of ourselves....but not always can our answers be found.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Golden slumbersGolden slumbers kiss your eyes,A drowsy maid snuggled down But the earth is not asleep.

After much bog work of filling the pitcher plants and picking flies out of the sundews and such, the fair maid retires to her fresh nest, and she bundles down amidst the moss for some rest. Consciousness of the world is suspended, but the world is not at rest. It never is.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

She could not stop staring atinto the otherness of nature, and see ourselves.believed in the magical side of nature, dabbled in al-chemy and mysteries, and was constantly experimenting withmagnets that would produce family harmony, or universalsalves, or celestial water

Just because you can't see things, doesn't mean they don't exist. The fair maid believes in things that aren't always seen. Sometimes there are powerful hidden forces, alchemy and mysteries, that are best left unexplained. The fair maid peers into the bog, looking for a harmonious experience with nature.

Monday, March 19, 2007

What a fine place to build a nest.She went away but soon came back with some twigs and grass.

Like a bird, she was away and came back....in order to find the parts for her nest. She literally IS going away and coming back by her body structure.

I immediately found in creating a book like this that endless images of one particular person don't exist, at least not 100 of them and in different facial expressions! By simple force I must have each page hold a different fair maid. But how fitting this really is, because the fair maid is universal and timeless. She is a persona, not a person, hence her lack of a real name--or specific facial identity. Even in her lack of identity, she is typical of most females in most societies, playing a crucial but background role in life. She fills the typical female roles, tending to the home, cleaning, gathering. She accepts the duties, knowing no other way.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

The fair maid who,Goes to the fieldsAnd washes in dewbrush the flies off her andis building a nest

The fair maid could be anyone, anywhere, anytime. She is represented by many faces, and none are the same, just as any one of us could be anyone, anytime we choose. This particular fair maid is a she, and fond of corsets. She is a maid, a servant, subservient to the world, and like most females she feels the worlds' needs come first, not hers. Before she builds the nest, she cleans her own person, brushing flies/debris off her, almost a sanctification and purification, a ritual. She wants to build her nest her way, the way she needs it to be done, by herself.